


Remember Me Shining, Blazing Brightly

by LunaChi_KuroShihone



Series: Blazing Bright [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Dorks in Love, Hurt Victor Nikiforov, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Sad Victor Nikiforov, Summer of mutual pining, Vampire Victor Nikiforov, Zine:Namida, soft victuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 05:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19434832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaChi_KuroShihone/pseuds/LunaChi_KuroShihone
Summary: Viktor Nikiforov was a vampire.It was a fact Yuuri didn't know what to do with; a terrible secret he had found out by chance at Skate America this season, and a secret he would take to the grave. They had passed each other in the hotel hallway, a one-in-a-million chance, Yuuri with his head low and shoulders drawn up, anxiety worming its way into his bones once again; destroying his chance at medaling. It was barely a glance, a passing murmur; a wisp of a meeting, but it had been enough for Yuuri's senses:Viktor had been pale and ashen, eyes sunken in with black circles underneath, hair more disheveled than normal, mouth drawn into a pensive and unhappy andtightfrown. And unmistakable, the smell of bitter iron, coppery and stale, following after him.





	Remember Me Shining, Blazing Brightly

**Author's Note:**

> I am so proud of showing you what I’ve worked on for the @yoiangstzine
> 
> It was the first zine I’ve participated in, and it was an incredible experience; everyone was so friendly and nice!
> 
> Thank you everyone who participated and supported us!
> 
> (And for those who are interested in the bat Vitya story, stay tuned until the weekend, bc I am not done with this 'verse, it is my baby)

Viktor Nikiforov was a vampire.

It was a fact Yuuri didn't know what to do with; a terrible secret he had found out by chance at Skate America this season, and a secret he would take to the grave. They had passed each other in the hotel hallway, a one-in-a-million chance, Yuuri with his head low and shoulders drawn up, anxiety worming its way into his bones once again; destroying his chance at medaling. It was barely a glance, a passing murmur; a wisp of a meeting, but it had been enough for Yuuri's senses:

Viktor had been pale and ashen, eyes sunken in with black circles underneath, hair more disheveled than normal, mouth drawn into a pensive and unhappy and _tight_ frown. And unmistakable, the smell of bitter iron, coppery and stale, following after him. 

Yuuri had stopped for all of a second, frozen in time until Viktor passed him without any glance, continuing on his way and leaving Yuuri alone. The Japanese Skater had kept an eye out for Viktor during the whole competition afterwards, even more so than usual -- Viktor was freshly turned, after all, and Yuuri hadn't known that his heart could reach out for another person while hurting so much as it did.

Of course he kept quiet. It wasn't in his place to inquire, if it was still so fresh that even sunlight bothered the Russian.

The Katsuki family had always been able to see the supernatural, going back generations upon generations of great innkeepers and onsen owners, with Yuuri being the latest member of the main branch, the one that still held onto the name of Katsuki. There were offshoots of course; family members who married into other families -- like his second cousin from Tokyo.

Yuuri had always been able to see them, from the ghost of the fisherman's wife with her mangled neck to the restless spirits of the hundreds-of-years-old ninjas from the castle up on the hill, only half-formed and sometimes grotesquely poised. Yuuri saw them, and they knew that he saw them. It was a fine balance between knowing and not prying, one that he'd mastered by the time he left for Detroit, ignoring the whispers that were left behind.

That's why he was so sure, that Viktor was a vampire, and that's why Yuuri's heart was silently weeping for the kind-heartedness and compassion and the grandness that the Russian had once been, before.

Still, Yuuri had managed to somehow qualify for the final in Sochi, despite being so utterly distracted by Viktor and his terribly _aching_ secret. Phichit and Celestino cheered him on, and even the ancient owner of the Skate Club rink in Detroit, ghastly pale with red blooming upwards from his left leg to his right eye smiled at Yuuri, happy for his success. None of them _knew_ , so none of them noticed. 

Sochi was a succession of many things that happened over a short period of time. Namely, Viktor now seemingly wore sunglasses as part of his new image, smile and mouth still close-lipped and safe, and his routines for this season became that much more haunting the longer Yuuri thought of them -- longing could be _so many things_ . Longing for love, longing for friendship, or happiness, or success, or gold, or, or _, or._ Longing for something out of reach of your hand, something ethereal and wistful and brittle; for a life now passed. Maybe it changed and evolved along the season. So much meaning packed into two skates, performed twice each already. Yuuri almost thought of approaching Viktor on the evening of their Short Program, when he'd wandered up to the hotel rooftop and saw Viktor grip the railing, glancing over the city skyline with electric blue eyes. It had been sheer chance that Yuuri found him there -- he'd needed to escape from Celestino and his inquiring gaze, and the general rumble of skaters at the event, so he'd made a hasty escape for the nearest exit, which just so happened to be the stairs up to the roof. Standing there, with Yuuri safely hidden away by the doors, Viktor looked like a lonely god, cast in the lights from below, and fear gripped Yuuri's heart -- a vampire could only die once, after all. And even if Viktor Nikiforov was one now, his very being was still too bright to simply fade away.

But Viktor merely looked at the city and at the stars, before he sighed, shoulders slumping and eyes downcast, and stepped away, so Yuuri left him be, ignoring the defeated curve of his form.

Then his poor, old, sweet Vicchan died, and Yuuri bombed his skate and his chance to win and stand beside Viktor, and thought, _huh_.

_Maybe this is it._

Why did he ever think Viktor would open up to someone like him, who wasn't even able to do the one thing all of them were here for _,_ really.

And so Yuuri left and took his secret with him -- back to Detroit, where the spirits bound to the rink and the university all looked at him with pitying gazes, and then back to Nationals, where his own countrymen were let down.

And then back to Hasetsu, where the old fisherman's wife still had her mangled neck and still haunted her husband, to the Nishigori triplets and their invisible and not-so-imaginary friend who looked like a reflection on ice; the same as them, but never able to cross the barrier that separated them, no matter how well it copied.

Yuuri had resigned himself to Hasetsu and life in the town, and studiously left offerings for local kappa and visiting yurei, avoiding the Yuki-onna that had made herself a home in the forest behind the inn, ignoring the _noderabo_ lingering around temple bells and nekomata wandering the streets. He'd looked after the abandoned boat that would sometimes appear at the sandy shore of the beach, leaving crackers and puffins and small, assorted toys inside, eyes downcast in silent prayer. By the time the month of April neared its end and he'd found his resolve again, skating _Stammi Vicino_ to Yuuko, his knowledge of Viktor's condition turned into a desire to compete against the Living Legend of skating again, and to _help._

Just as he helped the locals, even if it was by silently accepting them and leaving offerings of fish for Ningyo or a lit lantern in a crossroads to incense placed under one of the Shachihoko statues strewn across the town. Yuuri did his best with them as he did his best with the Wendigoes and Jackalopes and Boo Hags he'd encountered in Detroit, finding out that they often simply needed someone they could talk to, who preferably wouldn't run away.

His resolve was set, and Yuuri was ready to maybe crawl back to Celestino and beg, but then the unthinkable happened --

Viktor's arrival was a whirlwind of unexpected confusion and worry, Yuuri discreetly making sure to change the few mirrors left in the onsen that were still made from and adorned with silver. It was strange and confusing and wonderful, and Yuuri felt overwhelming surprise and perplexion at Viktor's confession that he'd wanted to be Yuuri's coach. He'd sneak constant glances at the Russian, equal parts wonder and terror, but he seemed to have stabilized far enough in his newfound vampirism that he acted and looked no different from any human, his smiles not as pressed and closed anymore, and the sunglasses not out constantly. 

Yuuri was ready to accept that maybe, maybe Viktor really came to Hasetsu to coach him, was really there because he saw something in _Yuuri_ that was worth pursuing. It was a wonderful thought, and it left him feeling lighter and giddy whenever he allowed himself to think about it. Yuri Plisetsky arriving some odd week after Viktor did with hellfire and fury in his bones certainly was unwelcome at first, but by the time he left, some of his anger abated and his fury was locked back up in place, tempered and forged into something new with the beginnings of _Agape,_ and Viktor Nikiforov would well and truly stay and become Yuuri's coach.

* * *

The first vampire Yuuri met had been a schoolgirl four or five years his senior when he'd just started, who had reportedly gone missing in the Sea of Trees on their excursion, only to walk on the Hasetsu shore scant a week later, tear tracks staining her cheeks red, barefooted and hair loose and wild. Yuuri had watched from the safety of some rocks as she'd glanced at the vast ocean, eyes shining mahogany-rust, expression slacken. There had been terrible marks across her neck, red and bruising, trailing to her right hand as well, the imprints forever burned into his memory.

She'd stayed with her family for the next years, changed and barely recognizable as the same loud and happy girl from before, graduating with a vacant expression and a frown, before disappearing off the face of the earth entirely, never to be seen again.

Yuuri had, until he'd met Viktor, only seen a handful of vampires in the flesh before, Kasumi _-san_ notwithstanding -- they were secretive and proud, all of them, but their emotions weren't the most stable, and many grew insane with age. Most of those he met in Detroit, humans who had been cursed by their mothers and their mother's mothers to live a damned life, or even one of the Hasetsu locals, an old lady who had practiced such dark magic that even Yuuri's family had left her alone most of the time, until she'd disappeared when Yuuri had been ten or eleven.

Locating vampires wasn't _hard_ per se, their scent coppery and bloody every-so-often, but Yuuri tried not to pry into personal matters as long as they followed the rules. As such, the ones he was acquaintances with could be counted on a single hand -- and even they, the two from Detroit, who'd tried to shut themselves away from humanity and only seldom letting Yuuri lend an ear when they would talk, were tight-lipped about their turning.

It was a taboo and a stigma, to talk about it.

So Yuuri hadn't asked them, and Yuuri wouldn't ask Viktor either. 

* * *

_Viktor was missing._

Yuuri was very close to panicking -- he'd searched the onsen and the rink, visited Minako's ballet studio _and_ her bar, and even chanced a glance into their local animal shelter, despite knowing that the animals were vary of Viktor whenever they visited, sensing that he wasn't what he was so carefully pretending to be.

But oh, how he was pretending, still, mask blank and careful and perfect to hide the loneliness behind his eyes or the hurt in his form; Viktor Nikiforov had been playing at being human for far longer than Yuuri would've guessed, if their bi-weekly strolls to the beach and subsequent talks were anything to go by. Yuuri had told Viktor to be himself, silently hoping the man would open up about being a vampire so that he wouldn't need to steal away in the middle of the night to wherever it was that Viktor probably got his blood from, so that Yuuri may accompany him. Sometimes Yuuri thought that Viktor really didn't know how to be himself anymore -- when his smile veered on the edge of plastic and his whole body screamed his discomfort, Yuuri would silently step just that bit closer, would touch and smile and hold, and Viktor would melt against him, muttering silent _thank you's_ and other gratitude, both of them ignoring how his grip on Yuuri tightened.

The problem was -- Yuuri wasn't anyone's savior, couldn't be their sole anchor and confidant, especially if Viktor wouldn't open up about it. Yuuri was Yuuri; anxiety-ridden and prone to binge-eating, youngest in line of an incredible family, unfathomably Japan's current top skater, and self-identified expert on one Viktor Nikiforov, as far as Phichit was concerned.

("Why don't you simply talk about it, Yuuri?" It was the topic of one too many late-night skype calls. Yuuri shook his head. "I- I can't, Phichit, I simply _can't,_ it's not... something you talk about.")

And Phichit didn't understand, didn't know about vampires and Yuki-onnas and Kappas as Yuuri did, never understood more than the things Yuuri explained to him, was never part of the center of the supernatural, only skirting the edges. So Phichit stopped asking, and Yuuri was glad.

But now Viktor was missing, and the same thought kept circling in Yuuri's mind as back then in Sochi, as the younger skater ran to the last place he imagined Viktor to be -- and in hindsight, it should have been the first place Yuuri looked, all things considered -- the sandy shore of Hasetsu beach, soon warm enough to go swimming.

_A vampire could only die once, after all._

Viktor was standing there, bare-footed but still wearing his jacket, bruised feet being caressed by soft waves. His expression, from what Yuuri could make out, was empty and vacant, a mile-long stare devoid of its usual brightness. His heart ached with fear and remorse as he slowly approached the Russian, steps growing smaller and fainter as he did. Viktor didn't acknowledge him, didn't flinch or move or turn around, and Yuuri felt something heavy settle in his gut, dragging him down.

"...Viktor? It's late, you missed dinner." Their hands found each other, Yuuri gently taking Viktor's, squeezing unresponsive fingers. "Mom is worried."

All of them were, in their own ways; Hiroko and Toshiya, Mari and Yuuko and even Minako and Nishigori -- all of them worried, but none of them knew the truth as Yuuri did, so he worried the most.

Viktor still didn't look back, didn't move his gaze away at all, but he very faintly squeezed Yuuri's hand back, and Yuuri felt himself relaxing. "Today is bad, then?"

Another slight squeeze was the answer, and Yuuri nodded. They both had good days and bad, and while Yuuri's anxiety hadn't yet reached a level where he'd broken down or had gotten a full-blown panic attack, Viktor had already seen him get lost in his own head way too often. And likewise, Yuuri had seen Viktor wake up on mornings and be lethargic and slow and craving affection like someone touch-starved, and Yuuri had pieced together what kind of man Viktor was when low on blood or confronted with his vampirism, even if the Russian never breathed a word of it. They saw each other, and they looked after one another. 

It simply was how things were between them; Yuuri and Viktor, Viktor and Yuuri. There were no words needed for the most part.

Yuuri tugged at Viktor's hand, softly, insistently. "Do you want to go back?"

The Russian blinked tiredly, his gaze finally setting on Yuuri. He still looked lost, and Yuuri already knew the answer. Viktor shook his head slowly, almost painfully afraid that if he'd show any kind of weakness, Yuuri would leave -- it was absurd, but Yuuri knew the feeling. Instead of forcing them to head back, the younger skater glanced around the beach, spotting the old and brittle boat further down the shore. His grip tightened on Viktor's hand again, and they moved towards it, the Russian letting himself be dragged along with no complains. The closer they got to the boat, the more Viktor's steps faltered, and the more Yuuri tugged him along. It was abandoned and old, moss and water invading the rotting wood and making the skeleton-frame brittle with age.

Yuuri was lucky that it had washed ashore a few days ago, firmly coming to a halt half a step away from the rot.

Viktor made a questioning noise in the back of his throat. 

Yuuri nodded, answering his silent question. They eyed the boat for a few more moments, Yuuri gathering his thoughts and arranging them into something resembling coherence, before his fingers tightened around Viktor's again, and he turned half-a-step, mind made up. Yuuri loathed seeing Viktor like this, posture so defeated and eyes so lost that it physically hurt him to look at, the smell of coppery-red iron more pronounced than ever before. "This is a... ghost-ship, would be the best translation."

Viktor's attention turned to him, his whole body curling around Yuuri's side in hope of comfort, the same noise as before escaping him. Yuuri squeezed his hand, his thumb drawing circles across his palm. "It appears and disappears with the rising and falling of the tides, on days that are more fog than light, and after storms out at sea. It is said to represent the spirits of the lost and deceased at sea, and if you listen closely, you can hear their cries in the wind when it howls."

Viktor still looked tired, still seemed lethargic and lost for words, but his eyes _shone_ as he glanced at the boat, disbelief written onto his features as plain as day. Encouraged, Yuuri continued. "I usually leave offerings for them whenever I see the boat ashore." He turned his attention to the barely-visible bridge, where the fisherman was reeling in his latest catch, and Viktor followed his gaze. They watched him throw the line, before Yuuri directed Viktor's gaze to the castle, barely visible. "Hasetsu is haunted by the spirits of the old and worn, Viktor. They wait around the corners and in the shadows and watch, some with envy and some with apathy. The streams are home to kappa and the woods house the wandering and lost, and sometimes they will bring the town a good year, but that's been happening less and less." 

Yuuri shrugged lightly, his eyes back on Viktor, who seemed to be fighting with himself silently, muscles taut and tense. He glanced back at Yuuri, eyes shimmering with barely-concealed hope, still silent. Yuuri smiled softly. "Hasetsu is an old town, so old things and hidden things like to gather and dust. It's always been that way, and it probably will always stay that way. The Katsuki family -- well," Yuuri swung their connected hands, once, before continuing self-consciously. "We've always been able to see and sense things like that, and we try to help, I guess. Viktor, you don't have to hide." _Let me help,_ he doesn't say.

Viktor stares at him, his fight sapped from his bones. His expression was _horrified_ . “...you know? You-- _how?_ Since when, Yuuri-- since-" Viktor let go of Yuuri's hand in an instant, cradling it to his chest in protective terror, voice raspy and cracked and so _broken_ that Yuuri wanted to hug him and cradle him and fill his seams with gold until he was whole again, not this mockery of a person.

Viktor seemed like a caged animal ready to flee at sound, and Yuuri reached out. " _Y_ _es._ I've known since-- well, Skate America, I guess. I know that you're a--" His voice lowered into a whisper. “ _I know that you're a vampire, Viktor."_

Viktor whimpered. Yuuri took a step forward without thinking, unable to see the Russian skater's anguish anymore. He hugged Viktor, let him hunch into Yuuri's frame, let his weight sag against his, pretended that he didn't hear the sob and the shudder. Instead Yuuri drew figures into Viktor's back and tightened the hug and continued, in the same, low, low whisper. "You don't have to pretend for me. Didn't I say it back then, on the beach? I only want you to be yourself and no-one else."

"I don't think I know who just Viktor is, anymore." 

Yuuri brushed a kiss against Viktor's hair. "Then we'll find out, won't we? But let's go back to the onsen first."

* * *

They were huddled together on Viktor's bed, knees drawn up and leaned against each other, and Yuuri let him. Viktor was still trembling, still looking a little too lost for Yuuri's tastes, but there was a newfound light in his eyes. "I can't-- I just--" Viktor struggled. He closed his eyes and took a breath. He let it out. "Not yet. Please don't ask me how I-- not yet, Yuuri."

Yuuri nodded. "Alright, I won't. I promise. Is there anything you'd like to, uh, ask me?"

Viktor nodded, unfurling slightly to glance at Yuuri. "You said that there are things that you can see -- what kind of things?"

Yuuri blinked, taken aback. "You can't see them -- you've never talked with anyone before? About all of _t_ _his?_ "

The Russian grimaced. "There's only a single person I've talked to about this, and that is Yakov, of virtue of him seeing me after I'd… well, after. We figured out that I'd need a supply of blood in Russia, and I know that he arranged something for me, but Yakov is not... He's human."

Yuuri nodded slowly. "So most of what you know is from self-experimentation and internet research, I guess?"

"Something like that, yes. I found a web address in my mail a few days after, with access to an online forum, and it's been helpful. I've no clue how I got it, though."

Well, that was the usual. Yuuri took hold of Viktor's hand again and the other skater relaxed even further, pliant against Yuuri's side. "I see the ghosts of the lingering and the spirits of the land, I guess. It's an inborn ability in my family, but I should be able to show you how to do it as well, now -- because you can't, am I right?"

Something like awe laced through Viktor's voice as he answered with a simple _"yes please, Yuuri,"_ before he started snickering. Yuuri blinked, thrown off by the sudden shift in behavior. Viktor elaborated: "The tables have turned, you're the coach now." 

Yuuri grinned. "It seems so, coach." They sobered up quickly again, and with a glance at the clock on Viktor's nightstand, Yuuri made to leave. He was halfway out of the bed when Viktor's hand gripped around his wrist, and his voice echoed through the still room. 

"Stay, please. For tonight."

Yuuri could do nothing but agree as he slid back into bed and under the covers with Viktor, their hands finding each other again in the darkness. "You know," Yuuri begun, "if you'd wanted to drink my blood I'd let you, Viktor." 

Viktor closed his eyes as if in pain. "I won't," he breathed. "I couldn't do that to you."

(He'd had, in his confused and wild frenzy _after_ , when his senses were in overdrive and screaming at him, latched onto his coach's neck and did just that, confusion and pain and anger mixing low in his gut with the feeling of hunger and _lust,_ as he'd drank from a stunned and frozen Yakov until he could feel his limbs warming again. Viktor hadn't known how long he'd done it, only felt Yakov's hands on his shoulders as they tore him away from the warm, _warm_ , blood and left him staring into the petrified eyes of his coach. Viktor had frozen up and his mind had sobered in an instant as he had launched himself away from the older man _,_ his stomach churning and knotting. Yakov couldn't go to the rink for the next two days because of his low blood and dizziness. Viktor had felt terrible.)

Yuuri's features were sleep-soft and warm, and he could see Viktor's eyes lingering on his lips, could feel the need for touch and reassurance around Viktor, soft and fragile like woven silk, and so Yuuri scooted closer, his own insecurities forgotten for the moment as he leaned their foreheads together and cradled their intertwined hands together and close to his heart, his other hand softly brushing against Viktor's cheek. "I'm here, Viktor." _I love you,_ he did not say.

Yuuri stayed awake until he felt the remaining tension seep out of Viktor's body, until he felt the other man grow lax, and only let himself succumb to sleep when he was sure Viktor wouldn't wake.

* * *

The remaining months had passed much the same, Viktor and Yuuri comforting each other and finding comfort in themselves. The stray touches grew more pronounced after that first night together, as did Yuuri's visits to Viktor's room at night, where they would talk about Yuki-onnas and kappas and nekomata and yurei, about the ghost of the fisherman's wife and her mangled neck, about the mirror-image of the triplets under the ice. They did not talk about vampires, they did not talk about Viktor's turning, but Yuuri could see a glimmer of _something_ returning back to Viktor, which had been missing ever since Skate America. Viktor managed to tap into his newfound vampire abilities with the help of Yuuri and the online forum, and had managed to finally alter his vision enough so that he could see for himself Hasetsu's local and visiting spirits. He accompanied Yuuri to the temples for offerings every new moon and watched, fascination making his features glow.

They did not talk about that first night, where Yuuri could have so easily said those words; it wouldn't have made any difference in the long run, because their actions spoke louder and much clearer what words couldn't convey. The sentiment was there in every morning where they'd wake up tangled together after having fallen asleep mid-discussion, it was there in the way Viktor let his weight sag against Yuuri, it was there in Yuuri's soft touches and smiles and post-ice hugs, and it was there in shared breakfasts and dinners and in the _Stammi Vicino_ duetto they were rehearsing with laughter and joy.

The sentiment was there when they had finally arrived at the Cup of China, when Viktor draped himself over Yuuri's side to watch the others skate, making his questioning noise as they glanced at Leo,and Yuuri leaned back and murmured into his ear. "He's a child born with death at his heels. Have you heard of the Day of the Dead? _Los angelitos_ , little angels -- the dead children. His spirit clings to his body, because it's strong enough to do so. They're pretty common in Mexico and Spain, and are revered as the reincarnations of their ancestors. How did you notice?" Yuuri patted Viktor's arm, three times in quick succession and full of pride. The Russian had come far. Yuuri himself only knew because of a summer camp Celestino organized a few years before, which many of America and Canada's rising stars had attended. Yuuri had pulled Leo aside after the first three days, brows furrowed and question at the ready.

Viktor tightened his hug. "He's… shimmering, sometimes. That's the best way I can articulate. His skin looks translucent."

Yuuri nodded as they watched the last skater finish. "He called it a _calaca --_ a skeleton, right? That's how I noticed it too."

And lastly, that sentiment was _d_ _efinitely_ there when Viktor launched himself at Yuuri and kissed him, in front of all of the viewers and skaters and judges, and Yuuri felt the sharp sting of the ice and of Viktor's barely-there fangs as their mouths met awkwardly, overjoyed. The rest of the day passed in a blur, but it ended with them huddled together under the comfort of their blanket and the darkness of the hotel room, Viktor's eyes glowing softly from euphoria and joy. Yuuri thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world. They were pressed together, Viktor's head over Yuuri's heart and Yuuri's fingers carding through silver hair, when Viktor talked, when Viktor confessed, only for Yuuri to hear. 

"I was so afraid, _solnyshko_ . I had been at the lowest point and saw no other way, had written Yakov an apology and letters to Chris, Gosha, Mila and even little Yura. I should have-- died. I should have _died_ that day, but instead I woke up to Yakov yelling at me and burning pain in my body." He shuddered, curling against Yuuri, eyes pressing shut. "I didn't know what to do with myself anymore. I had already been pretending for so long, it was easy slipping back into old habits. I had considered, again, but-- who knows if I can even die now, and I didn't want to feel the pain again, so I told myself: only a little bit longer, and then after the season. I had considered so many terrible things, Yuuri, that I'm not proud of, now." Viktor shuddered again, and Yuuri felt his heart constrict painfully as he squeezed his own eyes shut. He could barely imagine the confusion and fear Viktor must have felt. The Russian continued, voice soft and far away. "You had been the only thing that kept me from losing myself. And then I saw the video and thought -- I'll give it one last try, and if it doesn't work, then…" He curled even more, winding himself around Yuuri. "And I was afraid of your reaction, because-because. Who could care for _something_ like me?" He scoffed, "When I'm not even human anymore. One last try, and that's it."

Yuuri choked back a sob. “ _V_ _iktor_."

Viktor moved, turned to look at Yuuri's slowly-opening eyes, his expression soft and grateful, missing the self-loathing and contempt from before. _"...I'm so glad that I did,"_ he whispered, and leaned forward until their lips touched in a chaste kiss, Yuuri's fingers moving to cradle his face. They separated, only for Viktor to say, "I love you, Katsuki Yuuri."

Yuuri sniffed a laugh, tugging Viktor's face back. "Always, Viktor, always."


End file.
